Hundred Tales
by Axwrend
Summary: Taylor unlocks a strange ability in the locker; Not one of Overwhelming Knowledge. Not one of unstoppable power. Instead, just one, of a hundred tales. NOTE: Succeeding, finally, at a rewrite. A more satisfying and complete Arc should be inbound within a week or two.
1. Notes 1-1

_Summary: Taylor unlocks a strange ability within the locker...not one of overwhelming power..._ _nor one of overwhelming knowledge...just one of a hundred tales. What is a story but a vehicle for hopes, dreams, and desires?_

 _Authors Statement:_ _It's yet another "Taylor Triggers an odd power in the Locker" Story. I'm quite fond of them if done well, and so here's my first take on it…_

* * *

 **Notes 1-1**

I screamed, pounding the inside of the locker door with all my might. I was trapped within what had been my locker, and was now a sickening mess of garbage, old tampons, and insects.

I was trapped. I couldn't escape. It was dark, cramped and reeking beyond anything I had ever experienced, and I couldn't escape. The stench of old blood and rot was all infusing, and I gagged once again, my stomach threatening to turn itself inside out again even as I shivered at the sensation of the filth around my ankles, and the insects that crawled over…everything.

How long had I been here? Minutes? Hours? Days?

My hands tingled unpleasantly from scratches and scrapes from when I tried to beat down the door, or at the very least draw the attention of someone who would get me out. There had been no response. Perhaps worse than that, it hadn't just been me and my bullies in the hall when they shoved me in here. Everyone else had watched…and laughed.

I finally slumped in exhaustion. I was tiring…I had tired. I could barely shout and my throat was dry. The beating on the locker door to escape or get attention had been for naught, and I was positive all the cuts that littered my hands were infected. I could even swear my vision had started swimming and dimming. Did that mean…was I dying?

Panic erupted, and I spent minutes more beating against the locker with everything I had, earning only more cuts and bruises. I didn't want to die! I wanted to live! I didn't want to disappear…just being a victim in a cruel story. I didn't want to have my life's story end here.

Tears leaked as I slumped again, and laughed bitterly as no one came, and nothing gave. It was sad…pathetic. They had really left me to die in here. Because of them, my life was a sad pathetic story, and now because of them…it would come to an unsatisfactory conclusion.

Anyone could have had a better story...made a better story. Anyone…everyone...except m-

[TREJECTORY]

Everything was dark…and yet, not. The void was littered with stars, distant and gleaming, but those only served as a backlight and scale to the two titanic entities that twisted before them.

They were big, large, huge…larger then continents, then worlds, then hundreds of worlds. In their twisting, they shed lights as they rampaged...hundreds? Thousands? Millions?

[DESTINATION]

Somehow, each of the uncountable number of lights left the impression of power, of heroes, villains, and rogues…of adventures, and battles, and secrets, and all the little details in between.

So many shards…so many stories…

One particular grew larger and larger engulfing the lights, the entities, everything…

I wondered what my story would be…

[AGREEMENT]

-me.

I sobbed, then avoided the temptation to wipe the tears away…knowing in the back and front of my mind that tears were better than the infectious agents coating my arms and hands.

If I could just get out, everything would be fine. Everything. But the Locker had a…well, it had a lock, and I could only bloody my hands against the metal.

If only if it weren't for the lock, I could have been out of here hours ago.

A feeling…a whim…an idea bubbled up from the depths of my mind. It was all the Lock's fault. If it weren't there…if it wasn't keeping me in…then I wouldn't be trapped here, being a victim that needed rescue.

The word rescue brought to mind capes, my heroes when the world seemed to forsake me. If only a cape knew where I was. Armsmaster probably had a gadget or five to break me out. Miss Militia likely had hundreds of weapons that could do the same. Alexandria? She could easily just tear the lock off, or skip that and simply tear the door off. Legend? Eidolean? Lung? Oni Lee?

I stopped when I realized I had started thinking of villains, and then reconsidered. While it was wishful thinking to be found by a hero, a villain or rogue might be more likely. Who else would come to the school in the depth of night?

I purposefully avoided thinking about the holes in that logic in desperation as my thoughts sped on.

What kind of Villain would save someone? What kind of Villain would save me, a pathetic girl trapped in a locker…by a lock…

Almost unbidden, I felt myself start thinking out loud as I followed that thought, eager to escape the locker even if only in my thoughts. "A Lockmaster…a specialists with locks who can open any lock", I mused, nodding to myself. A lockmaster was what I needed, but why would he save me?

"A kind grandfatherly man who wants to leave his mark on the world…He…"

I paused, feeling almost foolish at the building story…but what else could I do? Perhaps someone else would hear it and get help…except no one had come when I had cried out and beat against the locker before.

I could only wait and hope, and what was a story but wishes; hope incarnate?

"He wanders, his crimes minor, just advertisements of his own skills. His obsession with locks leads him to hunt down locks of all types to switch out with those of his own designs…"

I again paused, feeling that one last line or group of lines would allow the story to be complete. But what? What should he do? What did I need?

"In his most whimsical moments, he likes to switch locks with those of his own design, his most horrible crimes only when he switches out locks of great importance.", I heard myself say, "It was in this mood he visited a school, and in the middle of his work found a girl in a locker…"

Yes. This was it. This was what I needed. Just a little bit more…just a little bit…

"He found a girl in a locker and couldn't just leave her there to suffer and die. He broke the lock open and saved me. That is the tale of the Lock…Master. Yes, the Lock Master", I finished, somewhat lamely, and somewhat ashamed at how hope surged, expecting something to happen.

I shouldn't really be surprised. It was just a story, one to take my mind off the situation for a little while. Just a stupid story, by a desperate stupid girl…

That didn't stop me from hoping it would be true more than anything. Wanting more than anything…and fearing more than anything it wasn't.

Minutes passed and the anticipation slowly drained into despair.

What was I doing? Why did I think a story would help me? Why did it hurt so much when it didn't?

It was then the hope truly died, and I was truly trapped in the locker again, unable to escape, unable to even hope of escape, dying in the filth and insects that surrounded me…

Then there was a small noise outside, followed by the lock suddenly clattering to the ground, and the door being flung open. Outside was far brighter than I thought it would be, and I couldn't help but cry out, blinded, as a large warm hand reached in and gently pulled me out.

"There, There Lassie", said a warm elderly voice, "Ah've got you. You're safe now"

He embraced me in a comforting hug, and I felt…warm…safe…secure again. It felt like…how dad's hugs used to feel, back when we still had mom. I was out of the locker…I was saved…I was all these things.

I was…at peace.

* * *

 **End of Chapter**

 _Story Word count: 1261/1261_

 _Page count: 4_

 _This story was originally sort of planned to be a cross over with Nurarihyon No Mago, but the adjustments to the Ability Taylor Triggers with have led it to only have a loose semblance to the clan/game that inspired it._

 _I do recommend that manga, by the way._

 _Feel free to leaves comments, suggestions, omakes, or whatever. So long as it's not completely negative, I will try to take what is said into account. Also feel free to ask questions about the story._

 _Finally…I am considering Space Battles of sufficient velocity if and when I overcome my horrific writing habits. Thoughts about this course of action?_


	2. Notes 1-2

_Previously: Taylor was trapped in the locker. Filthy…cramped…inescapable. In desperation, after her unknowing triggering, she finds herself saved._

 **Notes 1-2**

* * *

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I came to a rhythmic beeping in the background. My head throbbed with each beat, and I groaned as I opened my eyes and felt my eyes burn and protest.

Where was I? What happened? Fragments of thought pieced themselves together, hindered only by a wince as with each beep until an irritated glare brought the offending heart monitor into view.

I was in the hospital. I didn't even have time to question why when it all came back to me…the locker…being shoved in…the taunts…the being left to die.

The beeping sped up a moment until my mind finally grasped that the memories of the locker were just that…memories. I wasn't in the locker anymore.

As I hadn't sat up at all, it was easy to let myself continue to…simply sink deeper into the bedding. I was alive. I was free. I was…safe.

"Taylor!"

I flinched at my dad's relieved voice, finally realizing I wasn't alone. He must have come here as soon as he had heard that I was here…watching me lay here for hours, fearing the worst.

I still remembered the warm loving father of before, before we had lost mom, and both of us had shut down. Father had thrown himself into work to keep his mind off things. I had cried. Neither of us ever really recovered, in part because mom had been the light of both our lives…in part because life saw fit to keep us down, a friends betrayal and severe bullying on my end, and despair as the city continued to decay while bureaucracy prevented him from taking steps to fix it on his.

The father from before was still there…just…tired. Exhausted. Broken.

He tried…but he was always busy, stressed, and distracted. I hadn't told him about the bullying, about Emma, because I hadn't wanted to add to that, because nothing either of us did would be able to change it and it would have eaten away even further at what he had become.

Well, He knows now.

My thoughts must have taken a minute or so, because when I open my eyes again, he's there, a mix of emotions easily read passing over his face. Sorrow...Rage...Defeat…

I had to do something, so I smiled, and said, "Dad…I'm ok"

The first thing I noted, after the emotions, was that he looked tired, like he hadn't slept for over a day. I felt a bit of guilt at that. He had likely heard what had happened and been just unable to sleep. He had already lost mom, and the fear of losing me as well…

The second thing I noted was that his face was filled with relief and sadness.

"Thank God you're ok", he said, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. "You have no idea how worried I was when you weren't home last night. When I received a call from the hospital…"

I didn't let him finish, sitting up and giving him a hug for both our sakes. "I'm sorry I worried you"

He said nothing, and we just sat like that for a long moment.

"What happened?", he finally asked, "All I know is that an old man brought you in last night, raving that he found you locked in a defiled school locker"

I winced at the reminder of the locker, and simply grimaced when he looked at me to see why.

"I…", I stumbled for words before deciding to just be blunt, "Yes. I was shoved into a locker filled with…filth. I must have passed out soon after I was taken from it."

Dad paused, and I shivered as I saw despair and anger war with each other within his eyes. "You're being bullied", he accused, "and this isn't the first prank. Why didn't you say something? Why didn't you tell the school, or me?"

I said nothing for a moment. "I didn't tell you because you wouldn't have been able to do anything to help, and you had enough problems without mine adding to them. As for the school…"

I scoffed, and hugged dad a little bit tighter. "I have gone to them. Many times. All they say is that they need more evidence, even as they ignore the more subtle forms of bullying that occurs in their faces. And then they leave the evidence finding to me. At this point, I can't even tell if they are incompetent or covering up for it"

I felt my dad stiffen, and I knew he was trying to control his anger because of the sheer injustice of it all. Finally, he said, "I could tell. They were here, earlier, offering to pay the hospital bills but only if we promised not to take legal measures. They couldn't have made the fact they were just covering their asses any more obvious if they tried"

He paused as if something occurred to him, and asked, "Did you happen to catch a glimpse, or a voice of the one who put you in the locker? If we can give them names…"

"It will be my word against the most popular girls in school", I finished, "Even if they get punished, they won't be expelled, and then Emma, Sophia, and Madison will have lots of time to plan some horrific revenge that's even worse than the locker"

I realized I hadn't thought that statement out when dad pulled away from the hug to face me. "Emma? Emma Barnes? I thought she was your best friend?"

I shook my head. "Not since a year and half ago, shortly after mom died. That's when she met Sophia while I was off at camp, and the two decided to make my life hell ever since. It still hurts to think about…"

Of the three, Emma's words and actions hurt the most. What can you do when secrets and struggles told in absolute trust are turned into knives of malice? "Can we talk about something else, please? Anything at all?"

Dad must have heard pain in my voice, as it was he who hugged me this time. It helped.

"The only thing that comes to mind is your savior", he said, and I could almost hear a smile in his voice, "He barged in here with you, and made sure you were taken care. The old man then disappeared before he could be taken in for questioning, though everything he said has been written down…with a bit of difficulty"

"This morning, the newspaper has a story about an old man breaking into the vaults of several banks somehow, not even hiding his face from the camera's or anything. The thing is…he didn't take anything. He just did a little song and dance, made sure it was caught on camera, and then left a business card in plain sight as the only other sign he had been there"

Dad laughed a little bit. "The business cards don't have any contact information or anything. It seems they were made from Index cards and pencil, saying to keep an eye open for a business specializing in improved Lock Technology. The PRT is wondering if it's a new Lock Tinker trying to advertise his wares before going into business."

I blinked. "I don't get why this is funny?"

He smiled. "You haven't seen his dance"

I knew that smile. It had been years since I had seen it, a smile reserved only for the jokes he knew mom would love, no matter how bad or groan worthy they were. I couldn't help but ask for details, and the following hours were some of the best I've had in recent memory.

* * *

 **End of Chapter**

 _Word Count: 1273/2534_

 _Page Count: 3/7_

 _Chapter is pretty much entirely social interaction, which is a first for me, but what can you do. The next couple of chapters for the first arc are me messing with the stations of canon to open to the actual meat of the story._

 _Analysis on the many stories I've read has led me to realize that I have a fondness of creative breaking of these stations, so watch out: I'll be breaking free of them soon._


	3. Notes 1-3

Previously: Taylor wakes up in the hospital, after the locker. She has a much needed discussion with her father, and he is relieved that she is safe.

 **Notes 1-3**

* * *

A couple of days of hospital bed rest might not seem like much, but the entire process of checking out and heading home was an exhausting task.

I wasn't fully recovered; I still had the cuts that I had to keep clean, and some medicine I needed to take to ward off any possible lingering infections, but I was well enough that I could go home with the advisement of taking a couple days off to rest and recover.

I had managed to talk my dad into making it a full week off from school, though he in turn set the condition that I had to do everything at home instead. It was a worthwhile condition.

A full week away from the madness I suffered at Winslow at the cost of having to do what I would have done anyway? The only problem was making sure I could turn the work in before the Trio ruined it.

Perhaps having my dad hold on to it and come at the end of the day to prevent any… accidents… from befalling my work? Only problem is that it would take dad out of work…but that was a problem Dad and I had plenty of time to find a solution to.

It's a pity the solution couldn't be as simple and easy as reporting the names of Terrible Trio. When dad tried despite my misgivings, it was pretty much exactly as I had predicted: Not enough evidence, no witnesses, perhaps we should ask them? They say they don't know who did it…

I shoved the thoughts out of my head and let myself fall face first on my bed as more…important considerations came up. One would think that worrying about possible escalation would win out but…I was unable to escape the memory of the desperate story I had made within the locker.

The Lock Master…that was what my savior was calling himself now as he continued his reign of…whatever you can call breaking into places to leave a business card… and if I remembered correctly, that is what I named the entity in my story.

He was apparently able to open any lock…was kind and grandfatherly enough that after his rescue, I allowed myself to pass out…and was apparently working on making his mark on the world.

It was as if my story described him completely, someone I had never even heard of before. But the other way around was even worse: He was described by my story… as in, the story came first. It was a ridiculous thought… for that to be true, I would have to be a cape…wouldn't I?

I frowned, remembering little snippets of what capes have said about gaining their powers...mainly, that they didn't. They didn't talk about it. Reporters used to try to get this out of heroes, but eventually gave up because heroes didn't react well to it.

They tended to ignore it, as if it was never asked. Or they tended to change the conversation, or even leave the scene. Others gave little vague hints, each suggesting it was a very traumatizing event.

Well, the locker had been plenty traumatizing.

I shivered at the memory, and then returned to the question, or rather questions. Was I a cape? If so, what evidence was there that I was one, and what ability would I have?

The evidence was the story in the locker. I'm was positive I had never heard of the Lock Master before, and some of the news on him made a point of mentioning that he had never been seen before. By all accounts, I had either described him before I had any knowledge of him.

That led to what ability I would have…either foresight, which I doubted because I was pretty sure I would have experienced any sort of precognition a second time… or creation, that he in fact came from nowhere because I created him.

At the very least, that second one would be easy enough to test a few times.

A few minutes thought developed a nice simple story, and a few more expanded it enough that I was confident that I would see a result if the power existed...and that if it existed, it wouldn't be a disaster.

I cleared my throat, and said, "There was a rock I found, a pebble the same as any others by appearance. On a whim, I picked it up, and I found that it was heavy…heavier than any pebble of comparable size should be. 'How curious', I thought, and I placed it within my pocket"

A quick check proved my pockets were still empty, and I frowned. Did that mean I was wrong, or did that mean the story was incomplete? Logically, I could say I was wrong because it was my story, and I decided when it was completed, but…

There was a feeling I recognized from the locker…that the story was almost done…that the story wanted to be done, and just a few more words would be enough. I thought over what I had so far…found a rock…described the rock…put it in my pocket…then what…?

In a flash of delayed brilliance that was obvious in hindsight, I finished it by saying, "and it is still there to this day."

And it was done. The story was completed. Another check of my pockets proved…they were empty. Huh?

I made the story… I finished the story… And nothing. The story was simple… perhaps brilliant in its simplicity, my pride insisted…And Yet…

Was there something I was missing? Or was I just grasping at straws, wanting something special about otherwise pathetic me? I felt some of the self-depreciation fade away with a sigh, and checked again, one last time.

And there was a pebble in my pocket. A small, normal textured pebble…and it was heavier than any pebble of that size should be when I pulled it out to affirm that it did indeed look just like any other pebble.

It was still very light, but it weighted two or three times more than it should have. Not much of a difference, but there was a difference. A difference I had added to it.

It was at the moment I realized what I was looking at. A pebble… that hadn't existed mere moments before. A brand new pebble that I was rolling around in my hand. A brand new pebble I had made. I had made it. I… created it…

I was a cape.

I could be forgiven for squealing in excitement for several minutes before getting myself under control, but it is for the best that I didn't give in the desire. At all. I'm most definitely wasn't hiding embarrassment behind denial or anything, just state a more or less true fact.

As soon as I had finished convincing myself, I had scoured my room for a fresh notebook, and lucked out when I found an almost empty one that had been an attempted diary that had sputtered to a halt after several days. I ripped the former entries out, and organized my thoughts before quickly scribbling down what I had discovered, along with some ideas I was having.

I scoured my room a second time for another notebook shortly afterwards, when I realized that I would need space for all the stories I could write, letting me prioritize the first book for analysis of my powers and planning my future as a cape.

I was a cape…with the power to make stories come true? Was it all stories, or just my stories? There was delay between the stories being stated and being made, so perhaps there was more to it than just that. What happens when a story is told a second time? And what were my limits?

I needed answers. That meant experiments.

* * *

Dad and I ate dinner in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

I had gone through a dozen or so stories in my experiments, and walked down here with a better understanding of my abilities…concrete facts and figures I could use.

Perhaps the most important one is that the story had to be mine…in my own words at least, if not of my own idea. I had found a poem in my English book about a pencil, and found reading it did nothing. Making a poem, of questionable quality, on the same subject had given me a new pencil.

Which led to important point number two: I could apparently only make each story come true once. Even minor variations to the original didn't work until it was different enough that it counted as a whole new story. I now had two of my story pencils.

Which had led me to experiment with the limits of what I could create. Testing had proven that what I could create…was not apparently not much, and it was something I was puzzling about more than anything. I could make basic objects, with some control over their characteristics…but when complexity reaches a certain point…nothing.

Given that I was convinced the Lock Keeper came from a story of mine, I was positive I was missing something.

I stared at the paper I had set next to my plate, wondering what was wrong with the story I had written on it. It described something I thought would be useful at school, mainly a theft and stain proof folder, to counter the two types of pranks that hurt my grades the worst.

I had said the story several times, and yet it hadn't shown up on my desk, like I had written it to. Was it just impossible? Why was this inner feeling I had associated with my power leaning towards it merely lacking something then?

Dad must have finished eating and already taken his dishes to the sink by then, as I nearly jumped when I heard him behind me, saying, "So theft and destruction of your assignments is one of the ways they make your life hell, huh? I should have expected that when your grades started dropping. Damnit. What have I been doing?"

What had he been doing? Work. Earning money to pay the ever increasing stack of bills. Mourning Mom. Fighting his depression at her loss. He had been there…but he hadn't been there for me.

I sighed bitterly, blaming myself for not wanting to add to his troubles. "I didn't tell you, because I didn't want to trouble you. It's my fault, not yours"

"You were looking out for me when I should have been looking out for you kiddo. And you still are", Dad sighed with far more bitterness then my initial impulse, "Is there anything I can do? Is there anything we can do?"

A part of me wanted to say no. I had been taking care of myself for long enough that I didn't need his help. The rest of me, the parts of me that still wanted a warm and loving home with both mom and dad, said yes, that I wanted his help… and for the second time since the hospital, I listened.

The two of us talked for over an hour, and I guided the conversation to when I would return on the following Monday, and how I could get an entire weeks of assignments in without sabotage. We decided on him taking a prolonged lunch to bring them to me, and to walk with me as I handed them in.

He would have to work late that day, but he was satisfied that he could finally help me. I was just happy that we were connecting again.

When I finally returned to my room, I paused at the door when I saw a folder that hadn't been there before on the desk. It had come true? Did it just need more time…but the Lock Keeper had taken much less time to come into existence…

I paused at the thought, wondering about my word choice. Come into existence. Something out of nothing. Was that how I was thinking my ability worked? I tell the tale and it just exists after a moment?

Perhaps it was the feeling from my ability, perhaps it was just my own intuition, but I realized that I was missing a step. The story was the blueprint. The blueprint was the shape of the resulting object, a guide on how to make it out of…what?

I drew a blank, unable to connect the dots until I remembered my dad's words…

"So theft and destruction of your assignments is one of the ways they make your life hell, huh? I should have expected that when your grades started dropping. Damn. What have I been doing?"

His voice had had anger…frustration…sorrow…He hadn't known what the story was for, but he had read it over my shoulder and…he had wanted something like this to exist. He had wanted a solution to my problems. He had emotions directed towards the story…emotions.

The blueprint was the shape of the resulting object, a guide on how to make it out of the emotions felt for it. More complex objects need more emotions… more than I can easily gather on my own.

The gut feeling of satisfaction told me that I was right, or at least on the right path, though I would need to test things.

What it meant was… my limits were defined by how much emotion I could get towards the story. Back in the locker, I had poured all my hope, and all my fear and disappointment into the story of the Lock Master, and he was by far my most complex story. At the same time, I felt that if I had the emotions ready, I could have no delay what so ever.

The only problem now was figuring out how to gather these emotions, and what I can do with them. That, and figuring out keywords for my story blueprints, and emotion materials.

After a bit of musing, I decided on "Tale" for my story blueprints, and, "Fear" for the emotion materials, in honor of what I was pretty sure the emotion's I had used to do all of my stories up to the folder.

As for the rest…It could wait. It had been a long day.

* * *

 **End Chapter**

 _Word count: 2379/_ _4913_

 _Page count: 6/13_

 _Taylors Ability:_

 _Word Tinker: She creates entities and objects through words that clarify their abilities and characteristics. Unfortunately, they don't come out of nothing and are shaped from people's emotions towards the story._

 _The wall of text has ended…for now. Hopefully I haven't disappointed anyone with the truth and mechanics of the ability. There is more to it, but I think I'll keep it a secret until Taylor discovers it._

 _As for the choice of Keywords…I do believe I stated in chapter one's End of Chapter Notes that the ability is inspired by the "Hundred Tales Yokai Clan". The word Tales, as it turns out, is a very fitting term given the definitions._

 _Tale: Fictitious or true narrative or story;_

 _Archaic definition: A_ _number or total._

 _Finally: Noted Commenters:_

 _Sphinxes:_ _Thanks for answering the space battles and sufficient velocity question. Perhaps I will make accounts at one/both of them once I prove to myself that I can keep a good update schedule._

 _Everyone else: Thank you for your time. Your approval of my story gives me strength…or, at the very least, Determination. Undertale Keyword drop…somewhat intended._


	4. Notes 1-4

_Previously: Taylor returns home from the hospital, and discovers that she is a cape. She explores and experiments with her power, coming to an understanding with it._

 **Notes 1-4**

* * *

I hesitated before the school, gripping the straps of my backpack a little bit tighter.

The week had passed by quickly, and the assignments mere afterthoughts to practicing with my powers. As a law abiding cape, I had quickly latched on the idea of being a hero, and that took up even more time as I considered what steps I would have to take before my debut.

I needed a cape name, a costume, equipment, information…the list went on, but I was crippled by a lack of words, a lack of Fear, a lack of expertise, and a lack of access. I had pretty much been stuck at home the entire time, and we didn't have internet access there.

But that was then, and this is now. I think it was only the knowledge that I had powers that gave me the courage to prepare for school after my morning jog, the only hesitations concerns of what tortures Emma, Sophia, and Madison had planned for me.

Still, despite knowing that pain likely awaited, I grit my teeth and forced myself through the doors. If I couldn't endure their pranks, their maliciousness… how could I even hope to be a hero and stand against the likes of…well, any cape?

The hall fell silent at my entrance, and I winced as I felt everyone's eyes on me. I stared back for a moment, trying to puzzle out why. Were they shocked I actually returned? Or perhaps the Trio simply had plans to make me suffer, and everyone was either in the know, or expected it.

I made the first move…or rather, I joined those who had grown tired of the stare down and tried to continue on my way. Emphasis on tried.

"Where do you think you're going, Hebert", drawled a familiar voice as Sophia grabbed my shoulders from behind and forced me towards some nearby lockers. The dark skinned girl hands dug a little deeper as she nearly tore my backpack off my back and threw it across the hall.

Had they been waiting for me? Was my suffering the only form of amusement in their lives?

I scowled as Sophia turned me around and pressed me against the locker, even as Emma and Madison emerged from the crowd…though I was somewhat amused that the two of them looked like they had run a mile or two.

Likely, they had watched over the different entrances just to make sure they caught me entering the school. As much as I hated it…I almost admired their dedication for making my life hell. Almost.

I took what little comfort I could that I suspected they had waited in vain over the last week where I didn't show.

"Look who finally shows her face", taunted Emma, "Did it take that long to find yourself a way out?"

Madison felt the need to chime in with, "Did you even bathe over the week you were gone? I can still smell the locker on you"

Half-hearted laughter rippled through the watching students, though the mere memory of the locker caused an almost universal crinkle of the nose.

I simply stayed quiet. Nothing I could say would change anything, and they would just turn it around to make me look worse. And of the two insults, the bathing comment was perhaps the more hurtful of the two. As soon as I had been able, I had nearly scrubbed my skin raw trying to remove the memory of the…filth.

I was tempted to say Emma was losing her touch…but I knew she would make me pay for it later, and that the temporary satisfaction wouldn't be worth it.

A shuffling sound brought me out of my thoughts, and a quick glance to the source showed me one the trio's groupies digging through my bag. My things went scattering across the floor...my notebooks, my pencils, my folder…

I breathed a sigh of relief as the girl completely ignored the folder and looked confused at the lack of any work. It seems that it was a good call to make plans with my dad for noon. Not even five minutes into the school day, and they were out for blood… or homework, though in a school setting the two were pretty much the same thing.

Still, I had nothing incriminating in there. Nothing to hide, and thus nothing they could use to hurt me.

When her face suddenly lit up, I winced as I realized that I had only considered school supplies.

It was the book I had dedicated to holding my stories that she pulled out, instantly recognizable by the Doodles I had drawn while puzzling out details, littering the cover in a satisfying pattern that my other notebooks lacked.

Why had I brought it to school today?

"I found her diary!", shouted the girl, and I paused.

It was most definitely not a diary. Keeping one was too much of a pain. I was filled with…something I had difficulty identifying. How would they interpret my stories? Concern welled up before fading into curiosity. I was positive I had left all mentions of my powers out of it, and a part of me honestly wondered how my stories, mere plans for they described, would be received.

I blinked at the sensation. Did…did that make me an artist? I hadn't thought of it before, but wasn't writing stories an art?

I must have shifted, because Sophia pressed me against the locker again with a little more force then she needed to, and with a laugh jerked her head towards Emma.

"You'd think she'd learn by now", laughed the Track Star, "I guess she really is as dim as you say. Let Emma read it, for everyone to hear"

Emma, Sophia, and Madison seemed to look intently at my face, and I shifted uncomfortably before I realized they were expecting to see shame and embarrassment at the announcement my secrets and fears and whatever a girl put into a diary was going to be exposed.

Fortunately, it wasn't a diary, and I felt none of those.

Emma had admired the cover for a moment, a hint of some unknown emotion flashing through her eyes, before opening it, and mockingly clearing her throat.

"Entry One: There was a rock I found, a pebble the same as any other by appearance. On a whim, I picked it up, and I found that it was heavy…heavier than any pebble of comparable size should be. 'How curious', I thought, and I placed it within my pocket where it remains to this day."

The resulting expressions on everyone's faces was quite refreshing. They did not expect that, and I could almost see the gears spin in everyone's brains as they wondered about what they had just heard.

I did have to force myself not to react when Sophia checked all my pockets however.

Finally, Madison smiled as if she had the perfect thing to say, "I suppose little Taylor has a thing for rocks. Everyone knows that people are out of her league"

And there went my good mood. Ouch.

I watched Emma flip a page…and then another several pages, naming the stories she passed in my head. Rock , Pencil 1, Pencil 2, Folder…

"Here's another one" she called out, and everyone fell silent, having acted up after Madison's sting. "Did you hear? Did you know? There lurk tiny men in the dark. They are petty, and thrive in it. Ever find your keys missing? Your glasses misplaced? Your Toilet Paper out long before it should? It was they, the tiny petty gnomes of…of…I can't read this last word. Ole? Your?"

"Yore", I answered without thinking, my mind remembering that that particular story had been born when I had misplaced my glasses and it had taken me an hour to find them. I had never actually read it, and I would never read it. I had written it for practice, and used my ability to determine how it would go.

I had enough problems with missing things, be it stolen or misplaced, to want entities whose entire purpose was to cause them to go missing.

Which is why as Madison tried to make a joke about me preferring tiny old men instead of rocks, and Emma tried to insult me for finishing the story, I was far more interested in watching shadows gather and swirl behind everyone, in the doorway to a bathroom with lights till out because of the early hour.

It twisted, and twirled, and gradually formed…a single wizened figure the size of an action figure, though with the proportional figure of a lumberjack. It winked at me, and then scurried back into the depths of the shadows.

I was stunned.

That wasn't right! I hadn't read the story! Why did it come true!? Was Emma going to take even that away from me? The ability that was unique to myself? How did it come true? I didn't have enough fear…

Actually, with about dozen to twenty people crowding the hallway, listening to my stories, I had enough fear for the tale to come true. How horrifying.

Perhaps…no…Definitely, it was an aspect of my power I was unaware of.

They must have taken my distress as a sign that they were getting to me, as they all laughed and then stilled as Emma flipped through another couple pages and naturally chose the worst possible one.

"Here's another one. Taylor…you really should see something about this fear of the dark, by the way", she taunted, before reciting, "A living shadow, it lurks just out of sight. The dark beckons it, and the light denies, this wisp will do what it can to bring the night. Shadows Loom within Brockton Bay, and it greets them with a smile."

That story had been brought about by a blackout a couple days ago. A drug bust a block over had gone wrong and the resulting mess had crippled the powerlines for hours until the city finally got around to repairing it.

I hadn't expected much from this story…just an entity that could replicate the event as an exercise to see if I could make the idea work. Fortunately, I had dreamed small with this creature: The only abilities it had were being a living shadow, but with the other characteristics… I had no doubt it was forming somewhere out of sight, and in the dark.

By then, Emma had finished skimming through my stories, and with an exaggerated sigh tossed to the floor. "Pathetic, Taylor. Your diary sucks"

That marked the end. With a few parting insults, people started wandering away, and I found myself shoved to the ground, "Where I belong", as said by Sophia before she joined the others of the Trio.

I spent a couple minutes gathering my stuff and evading people, hoping that the rest of my day would be better.

I knew I was out of luck when I saw the bathroom light flicker on and off.

* * *

 **End of Chapter:**

 _Word count: 1834 /_ _6747_

 _Page count: 5/18_

 _Word Tinker: She creates entities and objects through words that clarify their abilities and characteristics. As long as the story is hers, she doesn't need to be the person who reads it. Unfortunately, they don't come out of nothing and are shaped from people's emotions towards the story._

 _Finally. My first chapter that isn't just straight exposition…ever…I think. I've been so concerned with the beginnings of stories that it's…well, crippled them. No more…hopefully. I think Chapter 2 saw helped me get some experience with dialogue._

 _I had planned for the chapter to be a little longer, but I'm cutting it short here…it's a good end point, and what I have progresses the story enough. Originally, I wanted to show some of the chaos and end the story once lunch arrived. I suppose the next chapter will have to do all of that._

 _DeathDemonWolf asked some questions, some of which I cannot answer yet, either spoilers, or just not having come up with a plan yet. Major Drawbacks? I believe the entire first arc will display them. Cape Name, Role, Endbringer, and Coil? That's for me to know/think about and you to find out later._

 _However, despite the story name being Hundred Tales…She's not limited to only a hundred Tales. It was just a name that sounds interesting, and points to the source of her ability…or is it._


End file.
